


Death, Destiny, Heroics and Heartbreak

by Lohrendrell



Series: Snippets of what would be "The Deuteragonist" [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Frog dissection for Biology class, Humor, Jaskier is a chaotic theatre kid, M/M, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lohrendrell/pseuds/Lohrendrell
Summary: Jaskier was pretty sure what he felt was true love because Jaskier didn’t even fall for Geralt at first sight, as he was prone to do. No, this love had bloomed slowly and steadily, over a stretch of time that allowed Jaskier to really get to know Geralt, his flaws and all, and fall for the little things that made Geralt—well, Geralt.In Jaskier’s idiom, it meant three days, but still. Valid.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Snippets of what would be "The Deuteragonist" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905406
Comments: 2
Kudos: 66





	Death, Destiny, Heroics and Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> In an ideal world where I have my shit together and can deal with fandom life AND academic projects at the same time, this would become a long multi chapter titled “The Deuteragonist”, because that’s just the perfect title for a Jaskier-centric high school funny slow burn.
> 
> The world is not ideal, though, and I can’t deal with anything, so here’s a little snippet of the early stages of Geralt and Jaskier’s relationship from the same verse as [this PWP](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24854770).
> 
> On a side note, I always wanted to write that old cliché from high school movies and cartoons, where in Biology class they dissect a dead frog! My 12-year-old self was always equally horrified and eager to have her turn on a school-approved project that was all about messing with a corpse. I’m still not over the fact that this is just a TV Trope, or at least not how things are done in my country :(

Jaskier was pretty sure what he felt for Geralt was true love. The deepest, purest kind of love only the luckiest souls are ever allowed to experience, because destiny was a vengeful mistress, the universe was a sour, jealous lover, the night was dark and full of terrors…

Yeah, scratch that last one. Not original.

Anyway, he was pretty sure what he felt was true love because Jaskier didn’t even fall for Geralt at first sight, as he was prone to do. No, this love had bloomed slowly and steadily, over a stretch of time that allowed Jaskier to really get to know Geralt, his flaws and all, and fall for the little things that made Geralt—well, Geralt.

In Jaskier’s idiom, it meant three days, but still. Valid. 

He liked how Geralt, grumpy as he was, was actually one of the most polite persons Jaskier had ever known. Geralt was kind and generous even when it pissed him off to be so. He was tall and athletic and very, very, _very_ handsome, and intelligent, and had fabulous hair. Perhaps he was a little too antisocial for Jaskier’s tastes, but nothing their marriage couldn’t survive. How would their wedding be, by the way? Jaskier knew he wanted flowers. A lot of flowers. Maybe a day wedding. In Spring. Geralt seemed like the kind of person who preferred night weddings, though, or maybe a winter ceremony. But then again, roses went with everything.

“Do you even like flowers?”

Geralt turned to him with a questioning look. It was Friday, the fifth day of the school year, the day that marked the end of their first week as high schoolers and the second day of Jaskier’s descending (or ascending? Love _was_ a good thing, after all) into the realm of passion and romance only the holiest of protagonists were ever graced with.

“What?” Geralt asked.

“What kind of flowers do you like?” 

“What does that have to do with the assignment?” Geralt looked pointedly at the dead frog in front of them that they were supposed to be _dissecting_ , as if they were some kind of _animals_. Jaskier was trying not to look at it.

“Nothing, thankfully. Flowers are nice and pretty. This is gross.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He handed Jaskier a couple of spatulas. “Hold it with these while I cut it.”

“I don’t want to,” Jaskier whined, “I hate Biology, I hate messing with dead animals. I’m a poet, not a—a taxidermist!” This was his twin sister’s curse, Jaskier was sure. She cursed destiny and the universe to send him a wake up call to follow her footsteps and become a vegan.

Imperative educational systems he was obligated to comply with and twin sisters curses—was there any free will at all left in this mighty cruel world?

Geralt sighed. “You don’t have to look. Here.” He took Jaskier’s hands and positioned them to hold the spatulas where he needed them.

“Oh.”

Jaskier _didn’t _freeze like a dumb boy with a crush. No, sir. He was just… mildly thunderstruck, that’s all. By the disgusting _corpse_ that was just too close to his fingers for his liking, yes, but also by the sheer beauty of the boy next to him.__

__“You’re trembling.”_ _

__“Oh,” Jaskier said, “I’m… It’s just…”_ _

__“Don’t worry, I’m going to be finished soon,” Geralt said, while Jaskier heard the sounds of the—disgusting, absolutely disgusting—thing being poked at. There wasn’t much for him to do, so he just… stared._ _

__Geralt was breathtaking. He was poetry in legs. He was the perfect muse._ _

__Jaskier was so writing a hundred poems dedicated to those amber eyes!_ _

__“Stop staring.”_ _

__Jaskier turned his face—no, don’t look at the Frog of Death, argh!—and tried to concentrate on something else that wasn’t Geralt’s pretty face. “Sorry,” he said._ _

__Yep. This was love. The truest and purest kind.  
_ _

*

  
That evening, he went home ready to disclose his brand new status as a Bisexual And Biromantic In Love to his family. His heart palpitated inside his rib cages, so loudly Jaskier was certain the entire block to his house could hear it. Oh, surely he was to sparkle some very tortuous, unprecedented drama in his tiny little nuclear family that wasn’t so tiny. Surely it would come as a surprise for his parents to know their dearly beloved son—the most beloved of them all!—was queer. Surely it would be a shock to hear their special boy had already become acquainted with the wicked embrace of passion.

“You’re not, though,” his oldest brother said once Jaskier disclosed the news for him first, because he was there in the living room when Jaskier got home.

Jaskier eyed up and down Valdo, who was twenty-one and a college drop out, a vagabond whose musical career was prone to failure, and sighed solemnly. “Valdo, my dear brother, the less of the dearest, I sure love you, but that doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to tell me whether or not I am queer!”

“I meant special,” Valdo clarified, “and the most beloved. You’re none of these things.”

Jaskier started to cry, but when that didn’t work, he threw a cushion on Valdo’s face instead.

His twin sister, Priscilla, was a little more welcoming. “And how is this news? I mean, it’s not like you’re the most closeted kid in the world. Please join the theatre club,” she advised, “don’t make the poor lad suffer with your excess of misdirected energy.”

His two other siblings were also supportive in a very dismissive way.

Only his younger sister, Essi, who was thirteen and had a soul as beautiful as Jaskier’s own, congratulated him. “I’m happy for you,” she said, and repeated Priscilla’s advice about the theatre club.

Jaskier was looking up the school theatre club information on his phone when his parents got home. “Mother, Father, I have an announcement!” he declared, and proceeded to enlighten them about his true identity, as well as his muse’s. He had been meaning to do so in the form of poetry, but lost track of time, so he improvised his great come out moment with Valdo’s acoustic guitar. He thought he freestyled quite nicely in the part about his and Geralt’s future spring or winter wedding.

“That’s great, son”, his dad said while his mom kissed him on the cheek. “Pri is cooking tonight. It’s your turn to wash the dishes, right?” They ruffled his hair and went upstairs to shower.

“That’s it?” Jaskier looked at Valdo, feeling helpless. Valdo was looking back at him with his arms crossed. “No gasps? No tears of disillusion?”

“Yeah.”

“Not even a little bit of surprise?”

“Give me back my guitar.”

During dinner, Jaskier tried to come out again, but his audience was a very unresponsive one, and Essi had just gotten chosen as the class president, which was great, obviously, and he cheered with everyone, but it was also a little disheartening, because his was a situation of utmost singularity that everyone else failed to see. He wrote this exact needlessly long sentence in his diary that night.

And he washed the dishes. It was indeed his turn.  


*

  
The following Monday, Jaskier went to school determined to change the course of his life. He would rip his heart open and take one step further into the romantic fog that was sure to permeate the rest of his soon to be perfect life. He was going to declare his love!

He entered the class in a brand new pair of blue jeans and his best white shirt, expecting to find Geralt sitting at the back of the room, in their shared desk…

…only to find him at the front of the room, engaged in animated conversation with the recently elected class president, Yennefer.

Jaskier stared. Just for a minute, or even less, before walking to his seat at the back. 

He had only known Geralt for a week, but he knew a dumbstruck look when he saw one. Geralt was enamored with Yennefer, wasn’t he?

Oh, this was going to be unrequited love, wasn’t it?

“Morning,” Geralt greeted as he sat on his own seat by Jaskier’s side. Jaskier’s heart palpitated, because every day last week Jaskier had been the one to greet him, and Geralt didn’t even answer on most days. He was in a good mood, which made Jaskier’s own mood lift, until it had the opposite effect, because he understood the _reason_ why Geralt was in a good mood. It wasn’t Jaskier.

“Good morning,” Jaskier said anyway, and smiled, because he couldn’t help it, even if he wasn’t to be the protagonist of his own love story. “How was your weekend?”

Geralt only grunted as a form of answer.

Oh, he felt bad. Jaskier felt so bad. Not for himself, no. For Shakespeare. What a waste to not have lived at the same time as the famous storyteller. Oh, what a muse Jaskier’s dear fragile heart would make for the greatest of poets!


End file.
